


Sidelines and Standbys

by TiniBopper



Series: What Makes a Person Brave [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Actually talking things through and addressing problems like rational adults is my aesthetic, Communication, Emotions are taken seriously, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Side Story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 06:27:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13607517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiniBopper/pseuds/TiniBopper
Summary: A series of short ficlets and intra-related scenes that definitely are happening in the Bystander Effect universe, but due to close perspective writing and dedication to thematic writing style, will likely not be appearing in The Bystander Effect properly.





	Sidelines and Standbys

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not going to pretend I know what my writing muse is really doing anymore but here have whatever ficlets I've been procrastinating actually working on Bystander Effect with.

There is a part of him that cannot _believe_ he’s doing this. A part of him that whispers _no, wait, stop, don’t_ . A part of him that whispers _you’re acting irrationally,_ and _you’re counting your Froggits before they hop_.

But still, here he is, walking down the too-goddamn-familiar hallway, his hands in his pockets and a knotted bracelet of fuzzy sweater material twisting between two of his bony fingers. He’s kept it with him since she pulled it loose from the torn up sleeve of the shirt she’d deemed ‘only really wearable as pajamas now’. He’d watched her methodically tie and twist it into ever-more complicated patterns, watched her tie it off around his wrist and press her fingertips against his carpals.

 _There,_ she’d smiled sleepily toward him, a faint thing that took a lot of effort on her part, but something she’d still done, for him. _Now whenever you wake up, you can feel this and know what timeline you’re in._ _No matter the nightmares._ She’d squeezed his hand in the darkness and then rolled over onto her back again, scooting over until he could wrap his arms around her again. And then she’d just… breathed, steadily, until he almost felt like she’d fallen back asleep, her ribs rising and falling under his arm and pressed comfortably against him, her heartbeat pulsing soft and slow against his chin when he tucked it against her shoulder...  and he’d been lulled back to sleep by that quiet symphony in her soul.

There’s golden light staining the floor as he walks. He keeps his eyes forward, even as his fingers twist and smooth over the bumpy, uneven knots. His steps don’t falter when he passes the pillar he knows as intimately as his preferred stool at Grillby’s. He presses the tips of his phalanges hard against one of the larger knots, and reminds himself it isn’t happening this time.

It might never have to happen again.

It’s not until he has exited that hallway and stepped out onto the balcony bridge that leads the way to the throne room that all of the tension leaks out of his bones. He’s really doing this. He’s actually, really doing this.

He steps into the throne room, trampling buttercups with every step but not caring, and knowing that Asgore never minded either. The garden was so expansive that the blooms seemed to replace themselves within a day, anyway. The King, he sees, is tending to them -- the sound of water falling from a watering can joins the faint sounds of bird calls and fills the ambient silence.

“Just a moment,” Asgore rumbles cheerfully at his entrance. Sans stops a few feet within the mess of flowers and waits, still twisting the bracelet between his fingers in his pocket. When Asgore turns around, he quirks his mouth into a guarded grin and pulls the unoccupied hand out of his pocket to toss a two-fingered salute toward the royal’s way.

“Oh! Sans! What a pleasant surprise.” Asgore sets the watering can on the throne’s seat and dusts of his hands, beaming toward him. “What can I do for you?”

“heh…” Sans shifts on his feet, tightening his fingers around the bracelet spasmodically. “wondered if you had some time to talk, sir.”

“Of course.” the king’s smile is welcoming, but there’s a questioning glint in his eyes already and Sans knows that he’s already picked up on the odd dissonance in Sans’ smile. “Would you care to chat over tea?”

He pauses, giving it some sincere thought. A semi-formal setting like talking over tea is… not quite what he envisioned for this conversation, but he shrugs anyway. “sure. that golden flower tea stuff has grown on me. could actually use a refill, now that i’m thinking about it.”

“Well, of course, you can take another canister with you when you leave today!” Asgore smiles, the familiar boisterous, enthusiastic smile he always wears when he has visitors. “Come, come.”

Sans twines the bracelet around one finger before pulling it loose, slipping it on over the thin bones of his hand and finally pulling that hand free of the pocket, with it on. It’s a constant texture against his carpals, a constant reminder, and it feels like her.

He follows Asgore out of the throne room and into a small antechamber off of it, where a pleasant seating area has been placed near a window with sunlight streaming down through it. There’s a counter to one side, already prepped with a tea kettle and a hotplate, a sink and several canisters of the dried flower petals and leaves. The familiar aromatic scent of the petals in particular reaches him, and for a few seconds he forgets where he is -- for a few seconds, he’s just walking into the kitchen at home, and there’s a mug steaming on the counter waiting for him, as there has been every day. Sweet and summery, and almost… _satiny_ , if a texture could be assigned to a smell. _Yellow_ , if the same could be done with a color.

He looks up again when a cup is handed to him, pressed into his hands by large and furry ones. Asgore places a new tin of the tea leaves on the table near him, as well.

“You seem pensive, my friend.” the King says genially, with his own cup cradled daintily between his own fingers. It’s comically small compared to his hands.

“...i guess i kind of have a lot on my mind,” Sans hedges, taking a sip. It’s not as good as hers. There’s a cloying absence in the taste somewhere, a unique magic that can’t be replicated.

“Personal troubles, or…?” Asgore tilts his head. “Anything I in particular can aid you with?”

“not really _troubles,_ sir, but… it’s complicated.” he puts down the teacup on the table, pushing it with his fingers until it’s sitting centered on its saucer, the handle turned toward his left hand -- his dominant hand. “can i… can i ask a sort of, er… _personal_ question?” he quickly looks downward, fumbling for words, thinking of her and her unhesitant acceptance whenever he tells her he’d rather not answer a question, “you don’t have to answer--”

“Go right ahead, Sans.” Asgore puts his own cup down, seeming to realize that this is, in fact, not simply a pleasant visit.

He’s still looking down at his hands, folded together on the table again, and idly brushes the tips of his phalanges against the knotted bracelet again. “...were--pardon. _are_ you and the former queen soulmates?” he finally asks, without looking up, fighting the urge to stand and teleport away immediately after it. This is... This is just _not_ a conversation that’s entirely appropriate to be having with one’s _boss_ , or one’s _king_ . Especially not when he has formed a bit of a friendship with the former queen, and even more especially not when he’d harbored an embarrassing _crush_ on her for the longest time.

Regardless of the fact that the crush in question is unquestionably _done_. He has no doubt about that much. The rest...  well.

The silence stretches on for a few seconds too long to be comfortable, and he keeps his eyes turned downward, mouth locked in a grimace of a grin, his fingertips pressed against one of the knots. He chances a glance upward, meets Asgore’s gaze. The King has a quiet, pensive look on his face, and Sans can see the way that he’s considering the uneven knotting as well.

Finally, however, Asgore lets out a soft hum.

“Yes.” the answer is almost criminally even toned, even as the king picks up his teacup again. “She was undoubtedly my soulmate, and I hers. I would prefer to believe that we remain so, regardless of our circumstances.” He takes a sip of his own tea, and Sans tugs at the bracelet around his wrist-- a thoughtless, fidgety movement.

“how did you know?” he blurts out before he can reconsider, looking up, almost certain that his grin can’t entirely hide the uncertain glimmer in his eyes. “i-i mean, how did you know what it was you felt for her?”

Asgore meets his gaze evenly, without judgement. He hums again, giving the thought a proper weighing before nodding slightly. “..I knew when I realized I looked forward to seeing her each day, and missed her terribly when I couldn't be with her.” he offers a tired, understanding smile toward Sans, brushing his own furry fingertips over the edge of his teacup, “I knew when I realized that she made me better -- not just as a king, or as a prince, as I was at the time, but as a man. She looked at me, and saw what I could be, and I strove to be it for her. And...” Asgore heaves a sigh that manages to shake the table between them, looking out the window with a wistful smile on his face, “I knew when I realized that the world felt like a kinder place, whenever she was near.”

Sans is glad that the king is turned away, and has no way to see the torrent of thoughts on his face. His mind is flooded with the quiet certainty that settled across her shoulders like a quilt, the soft contentment in her smile at the most mundane of things, the little joys that she found in things he’d forgotten were worth enjoying. Her quiet fascination with the magical joins between his bones, the way her fingers traced so delicately over the curves and edges of his wrist and his metacarpals whenever she got hold of it while he was distracted -- like he was a wonder in and of himself, and like she didn’t realize just how soft and solid that _she_ was, his own personal wonder. The almost sleepy smile she wore when she didn’t realize she was smiling at something, the way she would tug and twist her hair around one finger when she was lost in thought.

“Does that answer your question, Sans?” Asgore asks, breaking him out of his thoughts, and he immediately ducks his head down again, tugging on the bracelet again. He feels more than he sees the King’s gaze return to him.

“...t’be honest,” he aims for a jocular tone of voice, “now i just have more questions.”

Asgore is still smiling, a wistful, tentative thing. “If _I_ might ask… that knotted bracelet… is it from someone special?”

“...mhm.” Sans hums, “i… i really think she might be. it’s a scary thought, you know?” he presses against the largest knot. “i'm so afraid that i’ll mess something up, or that she'll get hurt…” he shakes his head ruefully. “or that it won't be able to last. i think the thing that scares me most is that it might not last.”

“Why shouldn’t it?” Asgore asks, taking another sip of his tea, still giving that soft, sad smile. He reaches a hand across the table. “May I?”

Sans hesitates, before extending his own hand with the bracelet. Asgore’s padded fingers brush against the tattered fabric and go still, and a mild look of surprise forms on his face.

“There…” he starts, sounding bemused and questioning, “There is quite powerful soul magic infused into this, you know.” He pulls his hand back, “She must have intended this gift to mean quite a lot.”

“there-- there is?” he blinks, peering down at the bracelet again in a new light, looking at it -- no, _Looking_ at it. A soft corona of shimmering red-orange sunset-light, burning low and soft like a fire, meets his perception. It immediately fills his own soul with that quiet homely feel that he associates with her.

She must have done it without realizing it, poured a part of her soul into a gift and tied it off around his wrist without hesitation.

He almost doesn’t realize his smile has softened, until Asgore clears his throat.

“I think, Sans, that you stand a better chance than you may think.” the ancient king chuckles, finishing off his tea. “Was that all you wanted to speak with me about?”

His smile falls, and he lets out a soft sigh. “...not exactly.” when he looks up again, his expression is pointed, and he meets the King’s eyes without fear. “sir. in … in the case that she actually _is_ my… my one. i hope it goes without saying that i… can’t be impartial, with her.”

Asgore goes very, very still as the implication sinks in. If she’s someone who would normally warrant judgement… and the magic, powerful in its own right, powerful enough to have _color_ to it…

“...I see.” Asgore slowly puts his teacup down, delicate despite his own strength. He pushes to his feet, straightening the fall of his cape on his shoulders, and inclines his head toward Sans. “I can, of course, make no binding promises, my friend.”

“you do what you feel you have to, but don’t be surprised if i do the same.” Sans leaves his own nearly-untouched teacup on the table, heaving himself to his feet as well and scooping the closed canister of tea leaves up in one hand. He pushes his free hand into the pocket of his coat and turns toward the door, fully aware that the conversation is over.

He’s gone before he even crosses the threshold.

**Author's Note:**

> Be sure to hit that kudos button and leave me a comment!! ❤
> 
> And also come hang out with me and chatter on my tumblr!
> 
> tinibopper.tumblr.com


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